Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) (14 page)

“Aye, that I twill do.” He widened his smile for her and added, “in the morrow.”

Lorenz gritted his teeth at his helplessness, when his mother stood and said, “I must bid him goodnight,” and suddenly she was beside him, bending down and kissing his forehead.

“Schlafen sie gut, mein sohn.” Her words were husky and low, charged with emotion. In English she added, “Do du remember the prayer ve said at night?”

Her words, so familiar, cut into his very being and he felt his throat tighten. There was no way he could push words out of the constricted area and he dumbly shook his head.

“It goes, 'Wohl einem haus, da Jesu Christ'.” She saw the blankness in his eyes, the sudden illumination, and the anguish on his face, and she finished in English, “and all who dwell within.” She kissed his head one more time, straightened, and walked to her husband. Lorenz could not see the smile on her face, or the brightness in her eyes.

MacDonald wrapped his arm around her waist, nodded at Lorenz, dipped and blew out the lamp. Moonlight fell through the windows and lighted their way. The two walked to the doorway leading into the short hall and softly they closed the door behind them.

Lorenz heard the door to their bedroom close and he tensed his muscles, trying to pull at the ropes that bound him. The ropes tightened and bit into his flesh, he relaxed, and then pulled again. After the sixth try of pulling and relaxing, he gave it up. He was helpless until morning.

He closed his eyes and listened, listened for the sound of his mother in pain. He had to know. For the longest time, he heard nothing. There was silence, or had he imagined something like a woman's laughter. Impossible. He tried finding his mother's mind, and it was like a door slammed. When he tried MacDonald's, a black curtain fell: a curtain heavy with a darkness he could not penetrate. He strained at the ropes again and tried futilely to turn.

His mother, however, was not enduring the agony Lorenz imagined. Once the door had shut behind them, MacDonald's hands had swept away her robe and unbuttoned the nightgown, loosening it, and then sliding the material downward to the floor. He bent his head to her shoulder and ran his hands over her sides, her buttocks, and every inch of her he could find. “My sweet one, how I have missed ye.” She giggled as his tongue licked at her neck. He lifted her then and laid her on their bed. He hurriedly shucked his boots and trousers and gathered her into his arms again, his hardness seeking her softness and solace.

She began to match his eagerness as his heat, hot hands touched her breasts and his tongue lapped at her eyes and face. Suddenly he erupted inside. “Too soon,” he gasped, “too soon. It has been too long. Bide a moment and I'll be back.” His hard body relaxed, then tensed again. “Do ye see, darling, what ye can do for a man?” He chuckled as he found her again.

She was moaning now, softly whispering, “Zeb, Zeb,” as she scratched and stroked his back, his hair, his buttocks. She lifted herself for each downward thrust, matching him, feeling the heat rise below her navel, marveling at his touch and the nerves she could feel tingling as far as her toes. This time Anna tensed and sounds erupted from her throat, rising in crescendo. MacDonald clamped his hand over her mouth. “Dear Gar, woman, ye'll scare them both.”

She lay gasping, almost in a stupor, then whispered, “Surely, he must know, and Mina sleeps so deeply.

He chuckled against her. “Whatever he learned, I'm sure tis wrong.” He was moving again, seeking her, seeking the comfort he desperately needed.

When he slumped against her, both were wet with perspiration and breathing deeply, satisfied, yet both longing for more. “Darling,” he whispered. “I must warn ye. In my land when a laddie beds a lassie three times or more, they must wed.”

It was Anna's turn to chuckle and pull him towards her. “And I must varn du. In my land, du must ved her first.”

Later, as they readied for bed, they washed each other from the basin she had filled earlier. MacDonald took the basin outside, through the door that opened directly onto the porch and emptied it. He glanced at the sky lighted with stars, listened for movement near and far, and re-entered their bedroom. To him, the bedroom was their sanctuary. He smiled at his wife, now dressed in her sleeping gown and asked “Why nay leave that thing off?”

Anna smoothed her hair back and spoke in German. “Mina may have a bad dream and come running in. It has happened, or she may wake and need me. You should be wearing your nightshirt.”

“'Tis too warm.” He set the basin on the washstand and placed the ewer inside it and smiled broadly at his wife. “Ye twill be my shield.”

It was a running argument between them. MacDonald despised wearing anything while sleeping. Within his own home, he dispensed with the clothing as often as possible. Anna would shake her head at him. Her own two years of isolation from home and cultural underpinnings allowed her to sympathize with him. For tonight she would offer no objection. He was home again, not only home, but he had returned with her middle son. Strange, to feel such gratitude for someone she loved so deeply. And love him she did, fiercely, protectively, with body and mind; this man who valued her strength, yet made her feel like a woman. He valued her as a woman, but also he valued her intelligence and asked for her opinion, her counsel as he put it. She liked lying close to him, liked the feeling of security that his strength made possible. She folded her hands for her nightly prayers and dropped immediately to sleep.

Lorenz was surprised that he had slept, but there was MacDonald undoing the ropes. “Did ye sleep well, laddie?” asked the deep, rumbling voice.

“Uh, yeah,” he muttered in reply and rubbed at his wrists, then at his ankles. Where was his ma? Grey dawn lit some of the surroundings, but it was still mostly darkened shadows inside. He didn't hear anyone else moving. MacDonald was rocking back and forth on his heels waiting for him to put on his boots, and he dragged them on, deliberately keeping his eyes from the shotgun over the door. He could be patient.

MacDonald led the way outside and toward the outhouse. The sun threw its morning gold over the land as they walked back. MacDonald pointed to the hated pump and said, “That twill be yere task after we start the coffee for yere mither. She twill want a cup to start her day.” Lorenz dutifully walked into the house. MacDonald motioned towards the chairs, and Lorenz took the one closest to the door into the dining room. He tried to look natural as he watched MacDonald fill the enameled pot with water, throw in a handful of grounds, and a small shake of salt. While MacDonald was busy starting the fire in the stove, Lorenz uncoiled from the chair. Two steps and he was through the door, two more steps and he was reaching up over the front door leading out to the porch. He pulled the shotgun down, started to twirl back towards the kitchen and the charging MacDonald when a bundle of fury hit him from the side.

“Nein, nein! Du cannot do such things! Not now, not ever again!” The words were like an echo in his head. Suddenly, his mother was in front of him, her hands holding on to the shotgun, her grey eyes cold with determination. “Du cannot so behave.”

Lorenz felt his stomach sinking. “But, Mama, I just wanted to protect y'all. After he hurt y'all last night, I figured…” He'd forgotten to use his slurred speech, and his words died.

There were no bruises on her face. She was wearing what Rity had called a day shift, a gray, utilitarian dress for working: short sleeves, shorter than clothes worn outside the home, and no need for several slips. Her arms were bare and there were no bruises there, no discoloration. This woman didn't look like she had been struck, and she was definitely protecting MacDonald.

Anna looked at her son in disbelief. “Vhat are du talking about? Mr. MacDonald has never hurt me, not even mitt vords. Vhere did you come up with such foolishness?”

Lorenz swallowed. How was he supposed to explain? He looked at his mother, took a deep breath, and tried. “I heard a noise last night that didn't sound right. I thought he was hurting y'all.”

Part of the fury went out of Anna's eyes, but her grip on the shotgun did not lessen. A slight pink rose on her cheeks. “That vas my fault, but du are too old for me to explain things to du. That is Mr. MacDonald's job. He is Papa in this family.” She pronounced the words with finality. “Now put my gun back up. It must be there for me if ever the Indians come again. This time I vill have more than a broom.” She snapped her teeth and mouth shut.

Lorenz looked at his mother with her set face and then at the doorway into the kitchen. MacDonald stood there, watching them, his arms up against the frame. For once there was no half-smile on his face. The man was ready to jump, to bear them both to the floor if it would protect his woman. Now his eyes probed into Lorenz's. He was waiting, waiting for some movement, waiting to see if his wife's words were effective.

Lorenz suddenly realized that he wanted this man's approval. Until now Lorenz never gave a damn if someone approved of him or not, but this man was something more than all the others. Lorenz turned and slammed the shotgun back into position. He knew MacDonald would be at him this time and he turned, his head held high. He would prove he could take whatever the big man handed out.

“Now du apologize to Mr. MacDonald.” Anna still barred his way with her stern eyes and commanding voice.

Lorenz's mouth dropped and his eyes didn't leave MacDonald's. MacDonald never took his eyes away from Lorenz, but the half-smile was returning to his face. This time he wasn't laughing about some secret joke he was enjoying, but he was smiling at the consternation on Lorenz's face, and his eyes held a hard, speculative look.

Anna grabbed Lorenz by the biceps. “Du vill tell him.”

Helpless, Lorenz looked at MacDonald and then back at his mother. He kept his head high, but inside he was limp; as limp as his manhood dangling uselessly. Suddenly MacDonald's words returned, and Lorenz glared at the man. “Mr. MacDonald, ah just broke your rules. I sorrow.”

MacDonald straightened, a tight smile was on his lips and pride and approval were in his eyes. “Aye, accepted.”

Anna leaned over and kissed her son. “That is better.” Anna moved towards the kitchen, looked up at her husband and smiled, stood on tiptoe to kiss him, and went outside.

“How does it feel to be whipped when she does nay even use a belt?”

Lorenz let out his breath. “She ain't scared of nothin'.”

MacDonald straightened. “Tis wrong. She fears that the Comanche twill return and break up her family again. That tis why the shotgun. She handles it well. I worry as it holds but two shots. She, however, feels secure.”

“Now, tis time we went to work.” The big man reached out and grasped Lorenz by the shoulder, gently propelling him towards the kitchen door. At the door they stopped long enough to grab their hats.

Lorenz offered no resistance. He was in a state of shock. Where were the expected blows or the question about whose belt would be used? Instead the man acted as if nothing of particular importance occurred, and the rhythm of ranch life continued.

“Ye can start filling the empty tubs once ye have moved them into the washhouse whilst I milk the cow. By the way, I twill be able to hear if the pumping stops too long.” MacDonald smiled, handed Lorenz the pail, and then he walked to the springhouse to retrieve the clean milk bucket.

It was, Lorenz decided as the pump handle moved up and down, going to be another very long day. He really didn't know what the haying would involve, but he was certain it would not be to his liking.

Breakfast was a hurried affair. Mama plopped a big pot on the kitchen table along with cream, sugar, more milk, biscuits, apple butter, and mugs filled with hot coffee. She spooned something from the pot into a bowl, and said, “It's oatmeal. Du remember, ja?”

He shook his head and puzzlement wrinkled his brow. How was a man supposed to work eating a bowl of that stuff? Lorenz watched as the others piled on sugar and poured cream over the congealed mass. Surprisingly, it was good, and something stirred in the back of his mind. He remembered sitting up high in some kind of chair and throwing a spoonful at Daniel. He reckoned he was always good at causing trouble.

After breakfast, MacDonald and Lorenz headed for the horses and the barn. Lorenz figured once they were away from Mama's watchful eyes, he would pay for his touching the weapon. “Y'all going to use your belt when we get to the barn?”

“Nay, ye said, 'I sorrow.' ” MacDonald stopped and turned towards him. This time Lorenz caught the hard glint in the man's eyes. “Did ye nay mean it?”

Somehow his words had got twisted. Lorenz figured it was MacDonald that hadn't meant he accepted the words. Lorenz felt his face sagging as he scrambled for words in his mind. “I shouldn't have upset Mama. That was wrong.”

“And the shotgun aimed at my gut was nay?”

“Ah thought y'all had hurt her!”

“Hurt tis nay what a man does with his wife.”

“The hell!” Lorenz broke in. “I saw what they do!” His face was flushed. “The women were screeching like something already dying.”

“Aye, with good reason. Those men were brutal strangers, and using them in a brutal way ere they killed them. That tis nay the way of decent men with those they love. The object is to give each other pleasure.”

Lorenz stared at the man. He was talking about his ma. “I don't want to know,” he muttered and looked off toward the mountains. Was this what Mama meant when she said it was for MacDonald to explain because he was “Papa?” Did someone as brutal as Rolfe explain to Martin?

MacDonald grinned and clamped his hand on Lorenz's shoulder, aiming him towards the barn. “Ere ye have yere first bedding, ye'd best ask. Now we have work to do.”

Lorenz's original surmise about the haying was correct. By the end of the day, every muscle ached from pitching the hay upward while in the field and then downward into the barn. Why had Martin complained about losing this job? To add to his misery, blisters had formed on his hands and hay had sifted down into every crinkle and crevice of his body. Yesterday's meals were but a dream. There had been nothing but beans and biscuits for the noon meal, and supper promised to be the same as his mother was still working at something, laboring over a cloth, covered board with what looked like a shirt draped over it. Lorenz began to see why towns would have a lot of young drifters looking for an easier way of life. When MacDonald suggested a different way to cleanse the hay fragments from the body, Lorenz stared at him dully. He didn't want another bath, but there sure didn't seem to be a stream handy other than the spring bubbling in the springhouse.